


Baklava and Blinis

by Farakadabra



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, hints of underage sexual relations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farakadabra/pseuds/Farakadabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When U.N.C.L.E. gets assigned a mission in Istanbul, Gaby's behaviour towards Illya changes. Puzzled by her sudden rejection he finds comfort in the company of a young woman - his mission target...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This the first fic I am writing in English! *sweats nervously*
> 
> Hope you all enjoy reading it and I'd very grateful for any feedback you have!

Napoleon Solo loved his suits. He had a very fine collection of several pieces and always knew the latest trends in combining them with shoes, shirts and ties. He had been especially fond of his Hugo Boss suits even though he knew that he was technically supporting a Nazi brand. Although, he had to admit that the SS uniforms had a horrificly fine sense of style to them. However, it had never bothered him. He wasn’t a very political or patriotic man and he held no grudges. But since that one night in the infamous uncle Rudi’s torture chamber he found himself to avoid this brand. 

On this very morning, he wore a dark brown three-piece Paco Rabanne, combined with leather shoes of the same colour, a white shirt and a baby blue tie. He had an exceptionally good hair day, even though - he had to admit to himself - there was no such thing as a bad hair day for Napoleon Solo. 

He caught his reflection in one of the huge gold-framed mirrors that hung from the wall in the five-star hotel lobby, gave himself a wink and proceeded to cross the room to get to the breakfast hall. There was no denying it: he was a hot piece of ass. 

When he entered the huge conservatory where breakfast was served, he immediately spotted the Russian. Kuryakin was sitting all by himself at a table next to a full length window, staring stoically at some point in the distance. He was wearing his usual grey hat, a black turtleneck and a caramel coloured leather jacket. A brown paper envelope was lying in front of him and Solo spotted the broken seal. So, Kuryakin already knew about their next mission. 

Solo had actually intended to read his instructions the night before but certain… distractions had arisen. He was now planning to carefully read all about his assignment in the next twenty minutes, accompanied by a cup of hot, strong Ethopian coffee and a piece of lemon cake with one - no, he decided he had a rough day in front of him - two scoops of whipped cream. 

"Table for one?“ a pretty brown-haired waitress inquired. 

"Thank you, I’ll sit with the gentleman by the window,“ he replied with his smooth, sonorous voice and followed up ordering his breakfast. 

It had taken him a long time and a lot of practice to make his voice sound the way it did and he was awfully pleased with the result as he was sure his eloquence in combination with the lulling sound gave him a seductive charm which had opened him many doors… and legs. 

"Very well, Napol… Mr. Solo. I’ll be with you in a minute,“ the waitress stuttered, blushing and rushing to the kitchen. 

Solo smirked a little while watching her disappear behind the double door. 

"Good morning, peril. What a fine, sunny day it is,“ Solo nonchalantly started chatting while approaching Kuryakin. The latter seemed unimpressed. 

"Explain,“ he simply said in his deep baritone voice and thick Russian accent, while he watched Solo take a seat opposite of him. 

"I was simply referring to the immaculate weather we have…,“ Solo said, confused. That Russian was a peculiar little snowflake. 

"No,“ Kuryakin replied, calmly pointing to the envelope in front of him. "Explain this.“ 

Solo suspiciously ogled his partner while taking his own envelope out of his leather briefcase and opening it. 

Kuryakin crossed his arms, not letting Solo out of his sight. His piercing blue eyes seemed several shades darker than usual. 

The American began to read. Their target was called Burhan Karadag, a Turkish scientist specialising in chemical warfare. His contributions had led to massive losses in the Vietnam war, on both sides. He had been providing his work to both, the North and South, causing a stand-off with no clear winner in sight and over thousands of casualties. Karadag was not interested in choosing a particular side but took massive amounts of money from both. In a secret treaty, both parties had agreed to stop using chemical weapons or at least stop purchasing them from a trader servicing both of them. To ensure the supply of Karadag’s products would stop, he was to be captured and brought to a secret location on the Eastern Coast of Africa where he should be kept imprisoned. 

Solo nodded. This was a good job for U.N.C.L.E. He and Kuryakin would make sure that none of them would abduct Karadag and deliver him to their own government so they could use the scientist’s terrible knowledge. Gaby was to act as a neutral mediator, overseeing the mission and the two agents. 

The waitress put the cake and coffee in front of Solo and they exchanged a smile. He read on. 

Kuryakin was to take on a role as Russian composer. Karadags young wife, Ayse, was an aspiring opera singer and looking for her break through role. The KGB agent’s mission was to pretend to be in search of a leading lady for his latest work at the Russian state theater in Moscow. This should get him as close to Karadag as possible, maybe even into his private mansion just outside of Istanbul. 

"A nice job,“ Solo admitted. "Charming the lady, getting your Tchaikovsky on.“ 

"Read. On,“ Kuryakin growled. His eyes narrowed. 

Solo raised his eyebrows. Kuryakin’s left index finger was tapping relentlessly on his upper arm and the CIA agent was instantly reminded of their first conversation at the café in Berlin. Kuryakin had the same expression on his face just before he had snapped and flipped the table. 

Solo feared for his lemon cake and turned his attention back to the paper in his hands. 

When he was finished reading he shot a quick glance to Kuryakin, who was still watching him. Solo reread the last paragraph of the assignment once more and felt a chuckle dwelling up in his chest. Knowing better than to challenge the Russian’s short lived temper he surpressed it and looked at the man sitting opposite of him again. 

"Well, that was unexpected,“ he said. 

"Why?“ Kuryakin asked darkly. "Why would she play your wife?“ 

Solo shrugged. "I guess a little variation would be quite healthy. You’ve been spending so much time together on our last mission…“ 

"Exactly,“ Kuryakin interrupted him. "And that is why I should play her husband. She knows me. She trusts me. I can look out for her. This is not right. Waverly made a mistake.“ 

"Hardly, my dear Mr. Kuryakin,“ a posh sounding British voice said. "Everything in this assignment is precisely as it ought to be.“ 

The agents looked up. 

Waverly stood next to their table. He had sneaked up on them. A true spy. 

"Good morning, Mr. Waverly. We were just discussing our new mission,“ Solo said politely, rising from his chair and shaking the Briton’s hand. 

Kuryakin did not move an inch. He watched Waverly with a stone cold expression on his face, waiting for the MI5 agent to elaborate on his statement. 

Instead, Waverly took a seat next to him, ordered a cup of breakfast tea from the pretty waitress and looked expectantly at the Russian. 

"As I just said to Solo here,“ Kuryakin began after a pause, "I believe this is not correct. I should play husband of Miss Teller. She knows me. We work well together.“ 

He expressed these words as patiently as he could but Solo, who claimed himself an expert on body language could see that Kuryakin was in fact quite upset. His hands were clenched to fists and he was grinding his teeth. 

Waverly did not seem to notice or not to mind. 

"I can assure you that everything is perfectly alright,“ he replied casually while pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot that the waitress had brought. „There is a specific reason why Miss Teller was assigned not to play your wife.“ 

It was obvious that Kuryakin was not far from losing his temper. 

"And what is that?“ the Russian demanded through gritted teeth. 

"Miss Teller explicitely wishes not to,“ Waverly said and dropped a sugar cube in his tea.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Solo heard the soft „plop“ of the sugar cube landing in Waverly’s tea he prepared himself for everything. There would be shouting, flipped tables (again!), probably violence.  
But he did not expect the silence that followed. Cautiously he dared to look at Kuryakin.  
There was an ice cold expression on the Russian’s face as he stared at Waverly and Solo was not quite sure what it was. Anger? Defeat?  
Finally, Kuryakin looked away, out of the window. He tried to not let it show but Solo noticed that his shoulders were slumping a little and he was swallowing hard.

„Ah, speak of the devil. How good of you to join us, Miss Teller. You look very lovely this morning!“, Waverly suddenly called and waved across the room towards the young woman that had entered. She looked at them, puzzled for a moment but made her way to their table. She wore a short white A-line dress with matching shoes and gigantic earrings, a new outfit that Solo didn’t really approve. The summer of 1963 was the summer of colorful dresses and and bold fashion choices.

„Mr. Waverly! I thought I was early!“, she said, shaking his hand and sitting down next to Solo. Both of them exchanged a warm smile. Kuryakin only looked at her for a second before turning his head to the window again. Her smile faded as she saw him.

„Well, German punctuality, I guess!“ Waverly said and laughed at his own joke. Nobody joined him.

„Now that we’re all here, I suggest we’d start discussing your next mission. You have all read the instructions I presume? Good, good. Kuryakin, why don’t we start with you? Your cover will be Yuri Malinov, Russian composer and director, up and coming, recently appointed to put on a new play at the Russian state theatre. The opera will be set in the Middle East, so you’re looking for a leading lady. A star. You’ve heard of Ayse, her fame has travelled far and wide and you’re interested to cast her as your female lead. Try to spend a couple of days with her. Get to know her. Make her beg to give you the role. You can start with some singing lessons. Oleg has notified me that you are an excellent piano player so that should give you the perfect cover. Are you fit to do this?“

Curiously, Gaby and Solo looked at Kuryakin. This tall, strong brute was able to play the piano? Such a soft and delicate instrument? Both stared at the Russian in amazement. Kuryakin didn’t say anything. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his jacket and he looked at the table cloth in front of him.

„Mr. Kuryakin? Are you able to fulfill the tasks assigned to you?“ Waverly inquired once again.

„Yes… Sir,“, Kuryakin answered silently, not looking up.

„Splendid!“ Waverly exclaimed happily. „We’ve got you a certificate from the Russian state theatre. All approved and signed by the highest institutions in your country. This is a task of high importance, so they’re willing to give you all the documentation you might need.“

The British spy pulled out a stack of very official and very important looking documents and certificates and handed them over to Kuryakin. He reluctantly took them and without taking another look he put them in an old black canvas back he had brought. He continued staring emptily at the table, his face static, without any expression. Gaby swallowed and cast down her eyes.

Solo shook his head and rolled his eyes. He did not know what was going on between Kuryakin and Gaby but apparently he was dragged right into it. He wasn’t annoyed, actually he was rather curious how it’d all turn out in the end and how he himself would fit into all of this. Still, he felt it was some kind of drama that could be avoided. Kuryakin was obviously very fond of Gaby. If it was just a fling, a superficial attraction or if she had actually sparked something very deep inside Kuryakin’s heart, Solo could not tell. Gaby was a bit harder to read. There was… something. The whole affair did not leave her unaffected. But she seemed to be able to contain her emotions and concentrate on the duties that were placed on her for this assignment.

Solo looked back at Waverly who had just started to describe his and Gaby’s cover.

„…Brian Townsend and his wife Stephanie. Brian is a merchant, dealing with weapons in the Middle East, looking for a new kind of warfare. Close ties to the Royal family of Saudi Arabia and owner of several oil fields. Good friend of the president of the United States, helping with diplomatic relations between the Middle East and the US. His wife Stephanie, a German mining heiress, born and raised in Hannover. Fled to the US at the beginning of WW2. You’ll both be introduced to Karadag by our agent in Istanbul, Mr. Yildiz. Try to offer Karadag big deal and get to know him personally. After a week, you two and Mr. Kuryakin will report back to me and based on the information you retrieved, we should be able to form a plan to seize and arrest Karadag and his inner circle of scientists. All parties wish this to be a quiet and discreet operation. I don’t have to inform you on the significance of this operation. I’m sure everyone will make their best efforts to complete the mission. Any questions?“  
Waverly came to a close.

„You will be in the same hotel but it is essential that you make no contact with each other in public. Preferably make no contact at all. We’ll be in touch once we know how we want to proceed. Mr. Kuryakin, your flight leaves at 11am, Mr. Solo and Miss Teller, you’ll take the 6pm flight.“

He took one last sip of his tea, placed the cup back in the saucer and got up. 

„I wish you all good look, gentlemen, mylady. See you in Istanbul.“

And with those words he turned around and left the hall. The three agents were left behind, sitting in awkward silence.

By the time Solo had finished his cake none of the three agents had spoken a word. Kuryakin and Gaby had strictly avoided to look in the other one’s direction. Solo felt that there were several words unspoken and he knew that he was in the way.

„My friends, it pains me to leave you already but there’s still some personal business I have to deal with today, so if you’ll excuse me. Gaby, let’s meet at 3pm in the lobby, so we can get on the way to the airport and discuss… our background story,“ he said, shooting a quick glance to Kuryakin. The Russian scoffed and looked out of the window.  
Solo nodded and left the breakfast hall. These two really needed to talk .

After Solo had left, the awkward silence became almost unbearable for both of them.

„So…, you have been well?“ the Russian asked without looking up.  
„Yes, Illya, thank you,“ Gaby answered briefly. She had nothing to say.

Finally, Kuryakin looked up and as soon as their eyes met, his gaze became softer.  
„Would you… would you like some coffee? Tea? You should eat something, too. I can call the waitress.“  
„No, thank you, really. I’m not hungry. Really.“

Kuryakin nodded. If Waverly’s words weren’t clear enough, hers certainly were. She didn’t see him the way he saw her and he had to accept that. He felt the cold sting of rejection and got almost physically sick. He quickly got up.

„I need to catch my plane,“ he simply said and walked out of the room.  
The Russian did not see the tears that started streaming down Gaby’s face as soon as he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for your feedback! I'll keep the issue with the quotation marks in mind and will change it when I get round to it. I'm currently writing chapter 4 and will use the English way for quotation marks from there.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though they weren’t allowed to make contact Kuryakin, Solo and Gaby were accommodated in the same hotel in Istanbul. Napoleon and Gaby shared a room and both were relieved when they found out that they were sleeping in two single beds.

The team arrived in Istanbul one week before they were to meet the Karadags. The Russian would go first, a meeting with Ayse Karadag had already been planned, he was ought to watch her perform in a small local theatre and introduce himself to her at the stage door.  
All three of them were instructed to use their first week in Istanbul to settle in and get familiar with the surroundings in case a hasty escape would be necessary.

Illya used the time to take long walks around the city and learn everything he could about the Turkish culture and traditions. He talked to locals, was invited to several hookah and mint tea sessions and found a tiny gym which was owned by a chubby, sweaty Jugoslavian where he would go almost every evening to work out and give a punching bag some mighty hits.   
These training sessions helped him. He mostly went late at night after he had sat in the hotel lobby for a couple of hours reading a newspaper while regularly checking the main entrance of the hotel. He often saw Gaby and Napoleon together returning from a fancy dinner and going up to their room. Their arms were usually linked and most of the time Gaby had a happy smile on her face. They never seemed to notice him. After each encounter, Illya immediately got up and went to the gym.

He didn’t know why he did this. Why he waited in the lobby only to see his two partners enter and return to their shared room. Why he deliberately chose to feel the hit in his stomach every time he saw Gaby. Maybe he wanted her to notice him. To see him all alone and miserable. To see what she had done to him and how much she had ruined him.  
But Gaby didn’t. She went to fancy restaurants, to the theatre, she took walks in the park and visited art galleries and museums, always accompanied by her new fake husband Napoleon. The ring he got for her was hideous (and as he knew the American, probably stolen). It carried a massive stone that seemed to be worth more than what Illya earned per year. He hated it.

Upon his first sight of the ring he instantly thought back of the ring that he had got for Gaby during their fake engagement. He had hidden a small bug inside the pearl but she had always been fully aware of it. In fact, she had kept it after their goodbye in Rome.   
One evening Illya got up from the couch in the lobby after he had seen Gaby and Napoleon go up to their room and ran up to his own chamber. He wondered if… if she maybe…  
With trembling hands he unlocked the door and rushed to his suitcase. Quickly he found the device he was looking for. It was a portable radio. Still set to the ring bug’s frequencies.   
He quickly put the headphones on, turned some buttons to slightly readjust the settings and waited, listening hard.

White noise.

Illya was more disappointed than he wanted to admit. Angrily he threw his headphones in a corner, grabbed his sports bag and made his way to the gym in order to beat the shit out of the punching bag.

Napoleon tried to entertain Gaby as well as he could. Although Waverly had instructed them to check out the area for possible dangers and escape routes, he didn’t see why he couldn’t combine this with enjoying himself a bit. Waverly would soon enough learn that Napoleon was a master in bending rules and instructions to his own benefits. Sanders was probably glad that he got rid of Napoleon without wasting his talents in prison.

He still was unsure why Gaby would refuse to work with the Russian. During her last mission he had the impression that she had really begun to like the tall man. He had been sure it was just a matter of time until Kuryakin would take her out on a date. It had been fun to watch the two of them, circling each other and waiting until one of them would finally make the first move.  
Her sudden change of heart was a bit disappointing to Napoleon and he didn’t even want to imagine how the Russian felt. He knew the feeling of rejection, the painful emptiness in one’s stomach that came along with it… long ago, long ago…

However, Gaby seemed pleased with him. Napoleon knew how to charm a girl. He wasn’t really interested in her. She was a pretty girl he had to admit but there were other pretty girls out there and he thought it would get in the way of the mission if he started a sexual relationship with her. He also was a bit scared to piss off a 6.5“ tall KGB agent with excellent fighting skills.   
And so, their friendship evolved.

Napoleon took Gaby out on amazing dates, he showed her the city, went shopping with her (the girl really appreciated his fashion advice), they took long walks and laughed a lot. They were constantly talking, Gaby really started to trust him and during a few occasions she even opened up to him and he discovered a very fragile and deeply hurt girl through her sassy facade. She talked of her foster home, how it was to lose her family so early, of her estranged father, her twisted uncle Rudi (Napoleon flinched a bit when she mentioned him for the first time) and the little chop shop in East Berlin where she used to work.

„And then, one day, Waverly just turned up. He gave me hope. He said he would get me out of the GDR. I would see my father again. That meant so much to me, Napoleon. So much. I had nothing left in Berlin. My foster parents were dead. Uncle Rudi and my father were the only family I had left. That’s why I joined him and why I kept my word, even if it meant that I would have to betray you… and Illya. And I’m really sorry for that.“

Napoleon looked at her for a long time and he knew that her apology was sincere.  
They were sitting on a roof terrace with an amazing view over the city. Impressive mosques were set next to tiny, shabby houses and the orange light of the sunset reflected from their roofs. Gaby stared at it and the American noticed that she blinked away some tears before she took another sip of her white wine. She probably hadn’t told this to anyone in years. He was grateful for her trust.

„It’s not personal, Gaby. The job never is.“, he said, took her hand and squeezed it. She looked at him and they both smiled. He was sure that this mission would go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your wonderful comments, you beautiful people! <3


	4. Chapter 4

It was Saturday night and the KGB agent was scheduled to make his first contact with Ayse Karadag. Nervously he sat in the audience though on the outside he kept his calm. He was always nervous when he was on a mission. He usually knew what was at stake and that his failure would mean a great loss to his bosses. His agency. His country. The pressure had him lying awake at night but he’d never let it show. Sometimes it was hard for him, really hard. Especially during his psychotic episodes he couldn’t keep control over his actions and he had snapped on a few occasions before. His worst rampage had happened only days before. It had been the day when Oleg had told him he had to kill Solo to obtain Dr. Teller’s computer disc. Illya didn’t remember much but when he had finally gained control again, he had been standing in a demolished hotel room. Why his instructions had led him to such a rampage was a mystery to him. He didn’t even particularly like the American. 

The Russian felt his hands starting to tremble again. Quickly, he reached into his pocket and took out a small pill box which contained a small number of tranquilizers Waverly had given to him. Waverly knew of his condition and before he hired Illya, the KGB agent had to swear that he would keep the pills with him at all times and take them if necessary to avoid any more… incidents.   
That night, Illya took three.

The Russian looked around the auditorium but couldn’t spot anything suspicious. He hadn’t been followed and nobody paid attention to him. There weren’t many people in the house that night anyway. A little more than every third seat had been sold. He imagined that this had to be very frustrating for a young, ambitious singer. He decided to target this frustration, in order to get close to her.

The lights in the room went out and the play begun. It was a very modern Turkish piece and most of the time Illya didn’t know what was going on. It was weird. The actors were screaming and rolling around on the floor in a spasmic manner. Others were sitting lethargically on the side of the stage, staring at some point in the distance.  
Illya didn’t like it at all. It was weird and confusing, it lacked grace and beauty and everything else he appreciated about the performing arts and the pills he had taken didn’t really add to understanding any more of what was going on.

Ayse had only a small part in the play. Right at the end, she would come up on stage, wrapped in several layers of black fabric which made it impossible for her to move her arms and wearing a gigantic hat that almost covered her eyes. It looked ridiculous.

Still, she came up on stage with her head held high. It was amazing how self-confident she seemed. She didn’t look older than older than twenty. Her long brown locks framed her pretty face, in its center a slightly too long and hooked nose. She had a hard expression on her face. Even though she was young, she seemed experienced and mature, maybe wise even. She had a stunning presence.  
The music started and she began to sing. Illya was surprised. He know the aria. It was a song from the Czech opera Rusalka which he had loved as a child.

She was better than he had expected. Not amazing. Not enough for the opera in Moscow and by far not the best singer he had ever heard. Her technique wasn’t perfect. But she sang with such passion and devotion that Illya was taken back to his childhood when his father had brought him to the opera and shown him the beauty of classical music. He smiled at the slight mispronounciations she made. Even in her ridiculous costume and surrounded by all the other actors who didn’t stop their weird demeanor her presence gave the play a certain grace that was hard to resist. 

When she finished the song the audience slowly started to clap. Illya could tell that no one had exactly enjoyed the play. His applause was only devoted to Ayse who had given her best and who’s performance he had actually liked. 

The lights went on again and Illya hurried to get to the stage door. He arrived just in time.  
Ayse was standing right outside the door under a dim streetlamp, obviously looking for a lighter in her bag for the cigarette that she kept between her teeth. Her hair had was covering her face from Illya’s sight, like a curtain. No one else was around.

“May I?“, he approached her, handing her his lighter.

She threw her hair back to look at the Russian. He could tell from her expression that she was surprised and mistrusting. But he didn’t expect the sharp sting he felt when their eyes met. She had an intense gaze.   
“Yes… thank you“, she replied and took the lighter from Illya’s hands. She was taller than he thought. 

“You know you shouldn’t smoke. Not good for breathing and singing“, Illya said, hoping to start a conversation with her.

“My singing teacher tells me something different“, she said cooly while lightening up her cigarette. Her thick eyelashes were still heavy with make up.

“He is wrong“, Illya replied. “My name is Yuri Malinov. I wanted to talk to you about a role that I’m considering you for.“

Ayse blew out the smoke from her lungs and observed him top to bottom.   
“Yes?“, she asked warily.

“Obviously I cannot cast you based on one performance. You would have to audition for me. I am looking for a leading lady for my opera which will open in Moscow next year. Are you interested?“

“Moscow?“, she asked and took another puff from her cigarette, her expression thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so.“

Illya was baffled. He gave her the chance of a lifetime. A leading role in one of the world’s most famous opera houses. He was so convinced of his bait that he hadn’t even considered she would decline his offer.

“I… Are you sure? I am talking about the Russian state theatre!“

“Yes. Thanks for the light.“

Ayse turned to go.

“Wait! May… may I ask why?“  
Illya knew it was a lost case but he tried everything to get her to talk. There had to be a way.

“Too cold there“, the girl just said without looking back. Only seconds later, the darkness had swallowed her silhouette and Illya was standing alone in front of the theatre.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update.
> 
> Uni has started again and I needed some time to adjust and get used to my schedule. I actually still am in the process of figuring everything out.  
> Anyway, I think I might have been able to reserve a couple of hours every week to continue working on this, so I hope I won't leave you waiting as long anymore.  
> I also think that I have a general idea how the story will continue and in which direction I want to go.  
> It'll be angsty. ;) I'll add some warnings when I know more. I might have to add a major character death...  
> But I'll let you know in advance, so you can stop reading if you're not up for it. (I might even write an alternate ending if you have started reading the story and want to continue but can't cope with a major character death... we'll see in time).

Two days later, Napoleon and Gaby had a meeting with Waverly’s contact person, Mr Yildiz. There would be some sort of reception for the high society of Istanbul and the American embassy had acquired two invitations for them. Yildiz knew Karadag briefly and would be able to introduce them. 

Gaby and Napoleon had gone over and over their story and she felt well prepared, still she was nervous. Unlike the two agents she didn’t have years of secret service training and had to rely on instinct and her improvisational talent. She thought back of her last mission which had gone terribly wrong. Her father… she had really tried to rescue him. Thinking of him made her sad. Their brief encounter in Italy had torn open some very old wounds and it would take some time for them to heal again. The realisation that she was all alone now made her shiver. She had no family, no relatives. She was an orphan. The closest she had to a family now were Illya and Napoleon and one of them would probably never talk to her again because of her rejection.  
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was for the better.

When she opened her eyes, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The black fishtail dress that Napoleon had picked for her looked stunning but she didn’t feel comfortable in it. The seams itched and she was not used to such fine and expensive gowns. Longingly she thought back to her time at the chop shop. Nobody had cared what she looked like back then and she started to miss her baggy trousers and lose shirts. Even her dresses in Italy were better than this.  
After all, Illya had picked them…  
“Stop!“, she said out loud. She mustn’t think of the Russian.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.  
“Everything alright in there?“, Napoleon asked from outside.

She looked in the mirror again. There was nothing more she could do to improve her look. The only thing lacking was a self-confident attitude and she wouldn’t get that by walking down memory lane.

When she stepped outside into the hotel suite she shared with Napoleon he was already wearing his tuxedo, his hair was perfect as usual and he had a warm smile on his face.

“You look absolutely stunning, Gaby. I like this dress very much.“

She smiled.

“Shall we?“, he said, offering his arm.

Reluctantly she took it after grabbing her black clutch and he guided her out of the room, down the stairs into the lobby.

Suddenly, Gaby noticed Illya, who was sitting in the entrance hall, brooding over a newspaper. When he caught her eye, his mouth fell slightly open. She swallowed hard and gave him a subtle nod. He quickly pulled himself together and smiled encouragingly at her. Illya probably knew how nervous she was. He had been the only one whom she had trusted enough to share her fears with back in Rome and she suspected that he remembered that going on an undercover mission was not an easy job for her.

She got a warm feeling in her stomach.

It would be alright. She had Napoleon by her side but the thought that comforted her the most was that Illya was always present. In some way at least.

It was a short taxi ride to the venue.

A tall blonde woman stood before the entrance and checked their names on the guest list. It was the first time that Gaby was using a fake name and she felt extremely uncomfortable. She was glad that Napoleon seemed so confident and not at all bothered by the fact that they were now Mr and Mrs Townsend.

After entering the reception hall they stopped for a few seconds to get an overview. They were in a huge hall with high ceilings which had crystal chandeliers hanging from them. Floor and walls were covered in marble.  
Waiters were walking around, serving champagne and hors d’oeuvres on golden plates to the guests. The men were dressed in tuxedos and the women seemed to participate in a competition of „flashiest dress“. One lady had several peacock feathers attached to her gown.

“Bit shabby, isn’t it?“, Gaby commented dryly.

Napoleon concentrated hard, trying to make out Yildiz’s face which he knew from the photographs provided by Waverly. They were looking for a small, stubby man with a thick grey mustache. Waverly had refused to tell them much about him apart from the fact that he was trustworthy and on their side. It was one of the most annoying aspects of working for a secret service: there were just so many secrets.

Napoleon was startled when he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around and looked down upon a small man who greeted them with a wide smile. This was Yildiz, without a doubt.

“Solooooo! Good we meet! Looked for you all time! You feeling good? Of course, you have pretty lady, right?“ he shouted at full blast and laughed at his own joke. A few people around them were turning to see who was making all that noise.

Napoleon, the smoothest person Gaby had ever known was struggling to find something to say. They both winced at the volume with which Yildiz had shouted Napoleon’s real name.

Waverly couldn’t be serious. It was impossible that this was the guy they were supposed to work with.

Gaby and Napoleon exchanged a worried look. It scared her that even Napoleon did not seem to know what to do now.

“Outside“, Napoleon said. “Let’s just go outside.“

“Fresh air good, no? Or you want smoke? Hahaha!“, Yildiz exclaimed happily and followed the CIA agent through the front door. His breath smelled of Raki. The American just closed his eyes and shook his head, not quite ready to believe the situation Waverly had put him in.


	6. Chapter 6

Illya couldn’t stand to see Ayse’s awful play again, so he decided to directly go to the stage door, hoping to catch her alone again. 

He was lucky. Even though she wasn’t the last one to leave the theatre she didn’t seem to be talking to any of the other actors and crew members. Illya followed her a couple hundred meters before finally speaking to her again.

“You were excellent tonight.“

Ayse stopped and turned around. She didn’t seem surprised to see the Russian.

“And you weren’t even in the audience“, she replied.

“The play is shit and you know it. You are better than this.“  
Illya decided to put in all or nothing.

“Even if it is, it is MY shit. Why would you care?“, she answered aggressively.

The agent was unsure if he chose the right approach but there was no turning back now.

“I see potential in you and I can offer you an escape from this. You could be great and you could sing on the world’s most famous stages. I want to help you embrace your talent. I have a studio at the conservatory. Meet me there tomorrow at 4pm and I’ll show you.“

Illya gave a the girl a small piece of paper with the address of the studio written on it. She took it, reluctantly. 

Without another word, Illya turned around and went the other way. He had no idea if his approach had been too pushy but he was losing his patience and it was essential that the girl would take his bait.

Ayse stood there for a while after the Russian had left. She looked at the piece of paper in her hands, took a deep breath and put it in her bag. She left without looking back.

***

“What the hell was that?“, Napoleon shouted. He was furious.

As soon as they had found a quiet corner which was away far enough from the venue, Napoleon had grabbed the little Turkish man and pushed him hard against a wall.

He couldn’t believe that this was really Mr. Yildiz. He refused to accept that Waverly would let such an amateur work for him.

Yildiz looked at him with big eyes.

“Ohhh, sorry Mister, mean no harm! You have problem ok? We fix, we fix!“

Napoleon was ready to punch Yildiz, when Gaby interrupted and put her hand softly on Napoleons shoulder. She was a bit shocked. Never before had she encountered Napoleon in such a state of anger. It scared her.

“Napoleon, please. Let him go, please. There must have been some sort of mistake.“

Napoleon gave her a short side glance before finally letting go of Yildiz. His piercing blue eyes seemed as cold as ice.

He took a deep breath, before he spoke again, this time in his usual smooth manner.

“Number one: You don’t drink on the job. Number two: you stop talking in that loud voice when we’re undercover. Number three: you do not, I repeat, do not use my real name. Never.“

Yildiz raised his hands defensively.

“Sorry, Mr. So… Mr. Townsend. Hard with all names. So many. I understand now. I be good. We friends, ok?“

Napoleon nodded. This sounded better. He still wasn’t convinced that this was the guy who would lead him to his target but Waverly’s instructions had been clear. And he had to admit that he had worked with guys who had been even worse, especially during his criminal operations after WWII.

“Right. So, you’ll introduce us to Karadag. Where and how do we meet him?“, Napoleon asked. He just wanted to get rid of Yildiz.

A bright smile appeared on the short man’s face.

“Oh good, straight business, hahaha, you not talk much, right? Hahaha. Ok, so Karadag is not at party but I bring you there. Just around corner. We say you work with brother of mine in Lebanon. Will be very easy. He trust me. Follow, please.“

And with that, Yildiz turned away from Gaby and Napoleon and started walking.  
The two agents looked at each other, both a bit clueless. They had no choice but to trust him.

It was a short walk and Napoleon suspected that the reception at the embassy was really a cover for Karadag’s secret party.

It seemed miraculous that the security guy who was guarding an inconspicuous door in some backstreet actually seemed to recognize Yildiz and let him and the two agents pass.

The door led to a long, dark stairway which led into the basement of the building, covered by a red carpet and lit only by a chandelier that hung from the low ceiling. Napoleon had to duck to avoid bumping his head.  
After their descend, they came to a halt in front of a thick red curtain. Soft piano music was playing on the other side.

“Now, before we go“, Yildiz whispered (he obviously had learned something from Napoleon’s talk), “I must warn. Maybe no good sight for young lady. Really sorry.“

He apologetically looked at Gaby and lifted the curtain to the side.

The low ceilings and red carpet continued in the room they were now stepping into. There was a bar with a bartender standing behind it who seemed to be the only male staff. All the other employees were women. Naked women. Carrying drinks and snacks. Sitting on laps and dancing in dark corners. 

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. This was not exactly what he had expected. His gaze followed a young, blonde lady who had greeted him with a big smile. Gaby smacked him on the head. 

“Eyes up, husband“, she hissed.

He knew that she wasn’t really jealous but pretended to be for the sake of her cover. 

There were several red velvet sofas everywhere in the room, with old, ugly men sitting on them and being… entertained by the girls.

Gaby felt sick.

Yildiz’ hunched figure quickly found a way to the other end of the room and stopped in front of the only black leather couch.

Napoleon instantly recognised the scientist they were looking for. He had grey hair, accurately parted and a thin grey mustache. He was wearing an impeccable black pinstriped suit that was remarkably fashionable. Usually Napoleon always found something to complain about other men’s suits but this one fit Karadag like a glove. The agent was slightly impressed.

A naked brown-haired girl was sitting on Karadag’s lap, slowly grinding against him and caressing his neck. Karadag didn’t even seem to notice that Yildiz leaned down and whispered something in his hear. He gave him a small nod and focused on the girl again.

Yildiz stepped back, gave Napoleon a pat on the back and whispered “Good luck.“

Then we was gone. Finally, the scientist drew his attention away from the lady on his lap.

“You brought your own amusement, Mr. Townsend?“, Karadag asked and looked at Gaby hungrily. Not really sure what to do, she stared at the ground. The carpet was covered in stains. She was disgusted.

The scientist spoke without any hint of an accent and his smooth voice almost sounded pleasant. He looked at Napoleon, completely ignoring the girl who was still grinding against him and working with her mouth on his neck.

“I think a bit more of my wife than just being an amusement, Mr Karadag“, Napoleon said. He was as suave as ever but Gaby had a feeling that Napoleon was a bit annoyed by the way Karadag looked at and talked about her. She didn’t mind (after all, he produced chemical weapons and was therefore not a particularly good man anyway) and she feared that Napoleon would jeopardise their mission if he kept being as sassy.  
But Karadag just grinned.

“Wish I could say the same. Please sit down and have some champagne. I heard you have a business proposal?“, Karadag asked, pointing at the two seats opposite of him.

“Here we go“, Gaby thought and sat down.


End file.
